


All Can. Some Should. None Must.

by Maribor_Petrichor



Category: Broadchurch, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Comfort Sex, Crossover Pairings, Hurt/Comfort, broadwho
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-22
Updated: 2015-03-22
Packaged: 2018-03-19 00:37:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3589737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maribor_Petrichor/pseuds/Maribor_Petrichor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Amy Pond is reeling from the loss of a man she can't remember all while Paul Coates is coming to grips with his responsibilities in the face of Danny's murder and his own loneliness. Inexplicably drawn together, for one night they carve out a piece of much sought after happiness with each other. Post Cold Blood</p>
            </blockquote>





	All Can. Some Should. None Must.

**Author's Note:**

> First, an admission, I haven't seen Broadchurch yet. Unfortunately I was unable to stay away from spoilers so I know who the killer is but not much else. Trying to keep myself ignorant I gathered all the information I could about the Reverend Paul Coates and I threw it into this story. For my Broadchurch-ers I apologize for any inconsistencies or contradictions. I admit this is pretty heavily Doctor Who.
> 
> I wrote this because no one else seemed to have done so and I just desperately wanted an Amy/Paul fic. I wrote it because DW is all about the multiverse and if Amy and Rory exist in one then they exist in another and another and another. I also wrote this because there are some universes where it doesn't work out alright. Some universes where that Rory doesn't get an Amy and vice versa. Maybe the universe we know with their pain and struggle and separation is actually the best case scenario.
> 
> I also pre-apologize for any Anglican inconsistencies. I've done my research on the church for personal reasons as well as for this story and I tried to be as accurate as possible. I used what I could find from the official website as well as the Book of Common Prayer.
> 
> Dedication:
> 
> For Heather

**All Can. Some Should. None Must.**

* * *

**_Paul_ **

It was half past three and as usual he was walking by himself. He was too preoccupied to sleep, too weary, too exhausted, too unhappy. It was a sweeping sort of depression, one that forced itself in like a storm, only to settle over the landscape of his life.

And then with those thoughts he felt even worse. How could he compare his issues, his trials to the Latimer's. It was ridiculous. This was his self involvement. His arrogance. His victim complex. His ego. He'd need to gather the reins on that and do so quickly.

He'd always been at odds with his ego and felt nothing short of revulsion when he caught himself preening before the congregation. Despite how difficult things had been lately, he knew he was lucky. Lucky to be here, lucky to have this position, lucky to be able to help the people of Broadchurch in their time of need.

The murder of the poor little boy weighed on him as it weighed on everybody. He was trying to balance his own grief and muddled feelings with the needs of his flock and somehow not filter it through his own issues.

He wanted a drink. Badly. In fact it was nearly consuming his thoughts as he imagined the pour, the taste, the burn, the soothing of his jangled nerves.

He swore under his breath and started to walk faster. He pulled his scarf tighter around his neck. The night was chilly and he was glad he'd brought his cagoule.

All things being equal he'd rather be at home in bed but at least he was alone.

Except all things weren't equal and the solitary figure of a woman standing on the cliff up ahead made it clear he also wasn't alone.

She had her back to him but still he felt as though even if she turned around he wouldn't recognize her. Her red hair whipped about her head, snatched to and fro by a wind unable to make up it's mind.

He approached her slowly, only half believing his eyes could be trusted. He couldn't recall the last time he'd slept.

What if she was lost? Worse yet, what if she was a jumper? He cleared his head and made certain that when he did speak it was soft but clear.

"Excuse me, miss, are you alright?"

* * *

**_Amy_ **

"And why are we going here? Amy asked. She was irritable and didn't try to hide it. The Doctor had promised they'd go somewhere exciting today. He'd promised and suddenly somewhere exciting had turned into Dorset...in the middle of the night...for what amounted to a petrol stop.

"We need to refuel, Amy. Won't take but a tick. Well a few hours at most."

"We've gone from a tick to a few hours. Lovely."

"Well aren't you a grumpy face today?"

It's true, she was and she didn't know why but everything had just set her off.

"Well can I at least get out and stretch my legs?"

"The infinite corridors of my TARDIS don't allow you to- nevermind, yes, yes it's perfectly safe. Just don't-"

"Wander off. I know, I know."

With quick steps she exited the ship. She could feel his eyes on her and was immediately overcome by a wave of guilt. She'd been nearly biting his head off at every turn and had no idea why. He was her best friend and she loved him dearly but ever since Cwmtaff she'd been unhappy, on edge, restless.

He'd handled it surprisingly well. He was kind, solicitous...gentle. And somehow that just frustrated her more. She wanted a fight and she wanted some peace and quiet and space.

Stepping out of the ship she took a deep breath and started off in a random direction. She was tired, so tired but still she trudged away with quick solid steps leaving her home far behind.

She hadn't slept in God knew how long. It was as though all of a sudden her bedroom wasn't hers anymore. She couldn't stand the bed, the atmosphere and she'd taken to roaming about the TARDIS at night. Once the Doctor had caught her sleeping in the chair near the console. He'd paused but he hadn't said anything. In fact they'd never talked about it.

She hadn't been paying very close attention to where she was walking but luckily some sense of self preservation and night vision allowed her to come to a stop at the edge of a dizzyingly steep cliff.

Amy stood there, lost in thought, alternately staring at the sky above and the almost violent water below. She didn't hear the approach of the man behind her until he spoke.

She jumped slightly and turned swiftly to gaze at him.

It was at that point that her vision started to swim and the ground started to rush towards her or she it.

* * *

**_Paul_ **

He rushes forward and catches her as her knees buckle and now he's unsure exactly what's happening.

He swears again as he hoists her into his arm, not because she's heavy, she's light as a feather as a matter of fact, but because it's just a habit he dredges up when nervous.

He's settles them both on the ground, pausing for a moment to take off his windbreaker and ball it up to stuff under her head. Paul looks at her, certain they've never met and yet...somehow...

Her eyelids flutter and he's suddenly beyond relieved when they open.

She looks at him and for a moment he thinks she may pass out again until...she smiles. So wide and welcoming and pained that he can think of nothing else to do but smile back.

"Hi." He says.

And just as quickly as it was there her smile fades away.

"Where am I?" She asks and he watches as her eyes flit around wildly.

"Broadchurch, you're on the bluff overlooking the beach."

"Why am I on the ground?" She said suddenly pushing herself up on her elbows.

"You fainted. It's likely my fault I must have given you an awful fright but I'm not used to finding people out here. Are you lost?"

"No...I'm here with my friend. We just stopped to...um...repair our vehicle. Well he's repairing it and I decided to take a walk."

"There's less dangerous times to take a walk...and less dangerous places." He said gesturing to the edge of the cliff and the steep plunge beyond. But she wasn't paying attention. She was trying desperately to pretend as though she wasn't looking at him all the while sneaking studying glances.

"I don't know, this place seems sleepy enough."

You'd be surprised. He thought, but kept the comment to himself.

"Have we...have we met before?" She asked wrinkling her brow.

"I believe I'd remember." he said before remembering to check his tongue. "But I must admit I had the same thought."

She started to get to her feet but her legs seemed less than willing to cooperate.

"Maybe you'd best take it easy for a minute or so. Make certain the blood is flowing in all the right directions first."

He took his jacket from off the ground, gave it a shake and wrapped it around her shoulders. She smiled at the gesture but it was small and unsure, nothing like the smile she given him when she'd first opened her eyes.

"You'll catch your death." He said cinching it tight about her. "There we are."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome."

She was breathtaking. The sort of woman who would have caught his eye, kept it and never let it go. The sort of woman he could have never quite worked up the nerve to speak to.

"What's your name?" She asked and there was a confused sort of expectancy in her voice that he couldn't place.

"Paul. Paul Coates."

He noted the flash of disappointment on her features, there one moment and gone the next.

"I'm Amy Pond."

"Nice to meet you, Amy. Shall we call your friend, would you feel more comfortable with her tending to you rather than a stranger?"

"No...he'll turn up eventually. He always does."

Ahh, he. He thought. Friend meant boyfriend...and so what if it did, Paul? He chastised himself. Do you think that's what you need now? A date? Wouldn't that just put the icing atop the cake? Stop being foolish.

"So, why are you out alone at this time of night, Paul?" She asked and he was warmed to hear the way she said his name.

"Insomniac. Never had an easy go of it when it comes to sleeping. There was nothing good on telly so I figured I'd take a walk."

"Well, we have that in common. I can't sleep much these days either."

"I'm sorry to hear that." He said sympathetically. "Is it something you'd like to talk about?" he said immediately switching into pastoral mode. His duties, he firmly believed extended beyond the boundaries of Broadchurch. He was called to be a willing ear and a shoulder to lean upon on cry on whenever the situation called for it.

She looked away from him and for a moment he was certain she would either ignore the offer or ask him just where he got off?

But then she began to speak.

* * *

**_Amy_ **

She couldn't explain it. Couldn't explain the out of control, manic thumping her heart did when he eyes opened and she saw that face. She didn't know him. Was more than certain she'd never seen him before in her life. He was a stranger and yet for some reason for just a moment she had felt this overwhelming need to embrace him. Alright it was more than just one moment. The feeling had faded, dulled but not completely gone away and when she dared, she would try and take in more and more of his face. Perhaps he just reminded her of someone. She only wished she could recall who.

"My friend and I, we visited this place and we didn't have a very nice time." She replied and then scoffed aloud at how woefully inaccurate that felt. They'd actually had a fine time, a scary, dangerous adventure and in the end it had all worked out alright. So, why would she say they didn't have a good time. Why did even thinking about that trip make her skin crawl and her stomach lurch. Why did it sometimes make her so interminably sad?

Amy was not a natural sharer though she was good at giving people the impression she'd revealed something intimate. It was a great way to draw people close but still keep them at arms length. There was something about this man, his face and the way she felt at ease with him that made her want to share.

"Have you spoken to your friend about this?" He asked patiently.

"No...he's...I don't really know what to say. Sorry we had a perfectly lovely time and yet for some reason I'm restless and sometimes unhappy."

"Yes. Yes, I think you should say precisely that."

She gazed at him and wondered how he had made her off-handed remark sound so reasonable.

"D-do you think so?"

"I do." He said calmly. "A friend will understand. I'm certain you've taken one another into your confidence before. This shouldn't be any different. And he should know if something is paining you."

"I guess you're right." She said but she was still unsure. "We've always been there for one another. He's the most important man in my life. He's my best friend-"

"Amy!" The voice called from a distance and her head jerked towards where she could only assume the Doctor was approaching from. It was dark and she was still a bit disoriented. He could probably see her quite clearly. She never knew just how different and superior Time Lord physiology was because he rarely thought it worth mentioning.

"That's him now." She said not looking at Paul. She had been enjoying this, this respite, and she wasn't exactly eager for it to end. She started to get to her feet and the man's hand shot out to offer assistance.

"Thank y-" She said turning to look at him. The words died on her lips. His scarf had come free and revealed what it had been hiding.

A religious collar.

* * *

_**Paul** _

For a good ten seconds he couldn't imagine why she had stopped mid sentence and after a bit he started to ask her if she was alright. Then he realized where she was gesturing.

"Oh, right, you didn't know."

"Amy, are you alright? I saw you on the ground."

A tall, young man had come jogging up. Slim build, athletic, attractive. He seemed like the sort of man she might be with. His eyes didn't leave her face and Paul saw the naked concern there. Of course he loved her. That was obvious.

"I'm fine, Doctor. Don't fuss over me. I got a bit woozy and Paul helped me." She said gesturing to him. He smiled at the other man and extended his hand.

It wasn't until this moment that her friend had turned to look at him and when he did he froze.

Amy seemed to be over her shock that he was a member of the clergy but she had somehow passed it along to her friend. After awhile of holding his hand out and it remaining decidedly un-shaken he retracted the offer.

"Hello, my name is Paul. I was just giving Amy a bit of a helping hand. No worries, she seems fine." The silence continued on for a moment as the man looked from Paul to Amy and back to Paul again.

"I guess I should be going." Paul said at the same time the man spoke.

"What did you say your name was?" His voice was low, not threatening but...fearful.

"Paul Coates. Have we met before?"

"Amy, we should go. Now."

Paul felt he was starting to catch a glimpse of the depth of that love he'd seen moment before. The man moved his body between he and Amy, protectively. He spoke shortly and with the command of someone who was used to being obeyed. Paul wasn't certain what type of domestic he'd stumbled into but he was beginning to wish he hadn't.

"Amy, it was very nice meeting you but I think I'll be on my way."

"No." Amy said definitively.

"No to who?" The Doctor asked.

"No to both of you." She said folding her arms."No, we're not leaving and no, Paul, I don't want you to go. You were just about to show me around town, yeah?"

She looked at him, her eyes wide and clearly requesting that he go along with her plan.

"Umm, sure, yeah, if you'd like." He had no idea what he was saying. It was the middle of the night and there was absolutely nothing to see in Broadchurch in high noon. But she seemed to need him in this moment and he was loath to disappoint her.

"Amy this is not a good idea." The man replied.

"Doctor, it'll be fine. Look at him, he's a priest he's not gonna murder me."

"Fine then I'll come along." The Doctor started to say.

"No!" Amy replied and Paul immediately noted it came out more harsh than she had likely intended. "I'm sorry but, Doctor, please...just let me breathe. We won't go far. I promise."

"I promise, I'll look after her. Nothing will happen to her under my care. I swear it."

"Of that I have no doubt." The man said looking at him strangely.

"Just...stay here, Doctor. Fix the car. I'll be back soon enough."

With that the woman started to stride away and with a last glance at the Doctor who was still staring at him with a look he couldn't understand he followed.

Really, was it so surprising that he was a vicar?

"Please be careful, Amy." Paul said catching up to her. It can be quite slippery here this time of night. You'd best take my arm."

He offered it and with a quick glance at his face she took it and held on. They slowed their pace, her friend no doubt growing smaller in the distance.

"Is everything alright between the two of you." He wanted to ask this delicately but he had to know. "He doesn't...I mean he seemed a bit possessive. Are you alright?"

She scoffed and waved a hand dismissively.

"He's always like this. I told him awhile back he's worse than my Aunt." Then it seemed to dawn on her what he was asking and Paul was relieved he wouldn't have to repeat it. "Oh! You mean does he knock me about? No, Paul, it's not like that. He's like my brother and he'd never hurt me. Not ever. I promise you, I am not a battered girlfriend."

"Well, I'm relieved to hear that." And he was. He'd been an intermediary in a domestic dispute once and though he would do it again without hesitation he had no burning desire for it. "So, you call him, Doctor. Is that his profession?"

"Uh..no, well, yes, sort of. It's more of a nickname, really."

He nodded and tried not to focus on how nice it felt to have her holding his arm.

"I see." He said and they walked on.

Something about being in her presence quieted the frustrations and demons of his mind. He took a moment to observe her. She was young, younger than he was, he felt certain of that. Lovely, clever, independent. Certainly Scottish to the core and he wondered how far from home she might be. She didn't seem lost, maybe just a bit lonely and he could relate. He was glad she'd wanted to walk with him even though they had no set destination. He didn't want this, whatever it was, to end.

"So, what's it like then? Being a priest?" She asked with a smile.

"It's good. It's nice. You know it's a calling, lots of responsibility and all that."

"Just wearing clothes and not the uh..." She made a gesture that he interpreted as flowing robes.

"Cassock? No, not for me. There are special garments that I wear for church though but when I'm out and about the collar is good enough."

"Do you solve mysteries?" She teased. "Every priest on every tv show I've ever watched has solved mysteries."

In any other situation, at any other time of his life it would have been a fine joke. But now it turned his thoughts inward.

"I'm sorry. I've no right to make light of your job." She said quickly.

"No, no, you aren't. It's just, very recently here there was a murder."

"Oh my God!"

"A little boy was killed and...I wish I did solve mysteries. I wish I knew who did it."

"That's terrible, I'm so sorry."

"It's weighed pretty heavily on the townspeople."

"And on you, I imagine. I'm sorry, Paul."

Her kindness touched him and he offered a quiet, "Thank you."

He knew the information about poor Danny Latimer had dampened the mood and after a pause she tried to raise his spirits.

"So, I've never known a priest before. Do you have you eyes set on becoming Pope?"

"Oh, no, Amy, I'm not Catholic. Well, I  _am_ catholic with a little c but not a big C."

She frowned and shook her head not getting it.

"Sorry, I skipped out on Sunday school whenever I could."

"Catholic just means universal as in all who come to Christ are catholic, little c. As opposed to those who submit themselves to the authority of the Bishop of Rome, big C. Make sense?"

"Yeah, I understand. So you're not Big C catholic, then?"

"No, I'm big A, Anglican or Church or England if you prefer."

"Does that mean you're not a priest?"

"I am a priest, a vicar is a priest, just not a Roman Catholic one."

"I've watched that show, The Vicar Of Dibley, before." She offered with a smile.

"100% accurate depiction." He said with a broad grin that for a moment felt strange on his face. He hadn't grinned like that in a long while. It was odd, but good.

She laughed in reply.

"I figured. Should I be addressing you as Father?"

"Paul will do just fine."

They were finally on safe, solid ground and he wondered and half feared she'd let go of his arm but she didn't.

The expanse of Broadchurch lay before them, dark and silent.

"Anglicans, you're the ones who are kind of modern, on like gay marriage right?"

"Yeah, that's us. Well, some of us." He said with no small measure of pride. He loved his church, even when he struggled with it. "LGBTQ positive, female clergy, allowing the clergy to marry."

He wasn't sure why he'd thrown that last part in but it got a response.

"Really? No celibacy?"

And there came swirling feelings, old feelings he hadn't felt in ages. And again he tried to push them down.

"Um...I try to encourage young people to practice abstinence until marriage, but the church is realistic and forgiving."

"But I meant for you."

"Oh...well...no, the clergy is not required to maintain lifetime celibacy."

"Interesting," She said before adding, "So, you want to get a drink? Is there a late night pub about?"

"I..um..." he faltered and felt ashamed but nothing about this woman made him want to lie to her. "I'm in recovery for alcoholism."

He glanced at her nervously and noted that she only looked understanding and concerned.

"Paul, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have-"

"No, Amy, it's fine. I mean, how on earth would you-

"But I shouldn't assume-"

"Really, it's fine-"

They went on like that, stepping onto one another's words, tripping over apologies until they both started laughing.

"I'm afraid Broadchurch is a bit sleepy this late at night. Everything's shut but we could go back to the rectory."

She raised her eyebrows.

"Back to your place, eh?" Amy replied and he noticed the flush ride to her cheeks. "Can't believe I said that."

Paul was blushing as well and felt a pleasant and slightly unfamiliar warmth flood his body. It wasn't right and yet it didn't feel wrong. The 'not feeling wrong' is what made it far more dangerous. He'd had an issue with lust in the past. It went hand and hand with his drinking as a matter of fact. Before Broadchurch, before seminary, before he'd felt a calling to the religious life he'd had some fairly wild times. Some of them rather  _promiscuous_... He didn't like to think back on those days but he remembered them well.

But this went beyond lust. Or was he just trying to convince himself.

What was it about this girl?

* * *

_**Amy** _

What was it about this boy?

He was just a boy, like any other and yet she had just essentially abandoned the Doctor for him. She had no idea when was the last time she'd felt any stirring of attraction for anyone. Her schoolgirl passion for her best friend had dimmed and faded. The truth was, she hadn't had a boyfriend in years. The last boy she'd dated, Jeff had been when she was 18 and since then, nothing. It was like there was a blank space in her life, a place where someone should have been, a time when someone should have arrived but never showed up.

The truth was, as lonely as she'd felt sometimes, she'd given up on the idea of ever having anyone...caring for anyone.

Until now.

She was still holding on to his arm even though it was no longer needed. She'd been shocked when she first realized he was a priest. It had been disconcerting and she felt instantly guilty for some of the quick flashes of thought that had whipped through her mind. But he smelled good, he looked better, he had kind eyes and a strong nose and a giving, awkward smile.

And yes, the fact that he wasn't a priest as she understood it to be intrigued her. She wanted to know how he balanced his life. How did he balance being young and handsome and walking a religious path? How did he balance dealing with the weight and worries of all the people of this little town? Why couldn't he sleep at night?

Maybe she would just ask him.

"Yes, yes let's go back to the rectory." He said with a firm nod. It's not too far, just down this way."

He seemed confident in his decision and it eased her mind.

"We won't wake up any of your brothers...fathers, friars, will we?"

He chuckled in a way that made her subconsciously draw closer to him.

"I live alone." He replied. "Just me."

"So do I. Just me."

He smiled at her as he opened the front door.

"Fancy a cuppa to take off the chill?"

"That would be lovely." She said as she glanced around the kitchen trying to get a measure of this man. It was humble and unadorned. On the table was an opened bible, a notebook and pen and a novel with a bookmark in its pages. His surroundings were neat and orderly, not even an unwashed dish in the sink.

"It's not much but it's mine." He said with a smile as he pulled out a chair for her to have a seat. "Are you hungry? I've got crisps and there's probably some sweets around here somewhere."

Smiling at his seemingly natural chivalry she shook her head and sat down.

"Tea is more than enough."

"So, where are you and the Doctor off to?" He said settling himself in a neighboring chair.

"Nowhere in particular. We just travel around and stop at places that attract our fancy." As she said it aloud she realized how daft it sounded and wondered if he'd buy it.

"But you just broke down in Broadchurch, we didn't happen to catch your fancy."

"I wouldn't say that." She said quickly before mentally chastising herself. This was completely shameless and yet every part of her being wanted to flirt with him and inch closer. She noted with surprise the unmistakable blush that rose to his cheeks. She'd thought she'd noted it outside as well but it had been too dark to tell one way or another.

He cleared his throat.

"Um, how long have you know him?"

"The Doctor, oh since I was seven. I'd say we've been friends for a very long time. I trust him completely. I love him."

"I think I envy you a bit. Being able to travel the way you do. Just pick up and go when the mood strikes."

"I envy you."

"Me? Why?"

"Because you're living like a real adult. Something I've never quite managed. Never been able to hold down a real job. Never been able to take care of myself. Never really amounted to much, just like my Aunt always said."

"I think you're a bit hard on yourself." He said with a kind smile and she couldn't help but look at him hopefully. "I think far too often we put ourselves on this timetable, some arbitrary schedule of when things need to happen. But there's no schedule, no timekeeper, there's only us and the limitations and demands we place on ourselves. Did it ever occur to you that you're precisely where you're supposed to be?"

But it hadn't. Her life had felt like a string of missed opportunities, lost chances, almosts' and maybes and better-luck-next-times. if she was here she felt it was just because a comedy of errors had lead her there.

"I don't know what I'm doing. I don't really even know who I am. Do you know what my last job was? A kiss-o-gram. I went around to parties kissing people for money. It's not that I'm ashamed of it. Well...maybe I'm a little ashamed. Not of the job but of myself. I wanted to do better, be better. I wanted to matter to the world but I just didn't. So when I had the opportunity to run away with the Doctor I grabbed it. And it helped, for a bit. i thought, maybe I was finally figuring out who Amy Pond was and what she could do. Sometimes I'm so happy and excited and grateful to be alive. Somedays I have the best days anyone has ever had but at night...it's like all these clouds gather round my head and I can't shake them and I can't out run them and I'm just empty. It's as if I left part of myself somewhere, on some faraway planet and I can't ever get it back."

She'd been avoiding his eyes this entire time afraid of what they might reveal. But when she dared to look she saw nothing there but kindness, interest, sympathy and perhaps even empathy?

"I'm sorry, you're not on the clock. I can't just take up your time like this with my sad story."

"First off, I'm always on the clock." He said with a smile. "And secondly you're not taking up my time. This is just one friend listening to another. Have you spoken to anyone about how you feel? A sibling, you parents, a counselor, a religious figure other than myself?" He ended with a smile.

"No, um, I lost my parents and I'm an only child. There's not really anyone to talk to, just me. And like I said, I never was much for church. No offense."

"None taken. Church isn't the only place to find God or peace."

The kettle went off shrilly and he got up to remove it from the heat and pour them each a cup of tea complete with a slice of lemon, sugar and a bit of honey and milk. She took the cup from him and held it in her hands enjoying the warmth before having a sip.

"Good?" He asked.

"Mmm, wonderful."

"I'm glad. Now, have you ever spoken to the Doctor about this. He must be aware of how you're feeling if you're as close as you say. And travelling together makes another person's depression difficult to miss."

"I can't..." She said as she felt tears start to sting her eyes. "I don't know why but I just can't. I try to speak to him and it's like the words just freeze in my throat."

"Ok, ok, I understand."

"Sometimes I catch myself crying and I didn't even know I was sad. And sometimes I feel so terribly sad and yet I can't work up even a single tear." She whispered unable to raise her voice beyond that. The tears didn't seem to have any trouble coming out now.

He rose from the table, his face a mask of concern and quickly returned with a box of tissues.

"I'm sorry, Amy. I truly am."

She took a tissue gratefully setting down the tea and dabbing at her eyes.

"So what's the verdict? You must think I'm mad, right?"

"On the contrary, I think you're perfectly sane. I think you're overtired. I think you're stressed . I think you wake up every day and place an enormous amount of pressure on your shoulders to be perfect and go to bed each night chastising yourself for not having made the grade. I think you tend to turn your negative thoughts in on yourself repeating them over and over until they become more mantra than idea. I think you're a clever, brave, beautiful girl in your 20's who is under absolutely no obligation to get her life together this very second. I think, though I find myself struggling with this concept on a daily and sometimes hourly basis, that God never gives us more than we can handle. I sometimes try and bargain with Him, pleading that He has overestimated my ability and I'm due for some sort of reassessment. But I'm not and He hasn't. And, finally, I think everything is going to turn out alright."

For some reason his words made her cry even harder. They were everything she wanted someone to say to her in a fashion that was only half as convincing as this.

"Can I offer you a hug?" He asked sweetly and she nodded almost immediately. He stood, approached and wrapped her in an embrace. In his arms she continued to cry, this fount of tears seeming to have no intention of stopping. He was warm and strong and she couldn't remember the last time she'd been held like this. The few times with the Doctor had been meaningful, needed but altogether too brief. There was something about Paul that seemed to promise to hold her as long as she needed.

"Amy Pond, you're going to be alright.. I know it." He whispered to her and she sobbed as the tears slowly started to ebb.

After awhile she uttered a shy and barely audible, "Thank you, Paul." And gently pulled away. He released her and immediately picked up a tissues and started to dry away her tears.

"You're welcome."

"Ok" She said with a sniffle. "Your turn."

"Oh no, really, there no need."

"To whom does the vicar confide when he's feeling sad and can't sleep?"

"God, mostly. I talk to God." He said sitting back down in his chair.

"Does He answer?" And then realizing how he might take that she amended. "I didn't mean that in a snarky way."

"I understand. And yes, sometimes He answers but not always."

"We're two friends right, just sitting at a table, listening to one another's problems. Talk to me. Why can't the good vicar sleep."

He gave her a small smile before staring down into his cup.

"The homily and sermon I'm working on..." He said gesturing to the bible and notebook. "It's about forgiveness. Isaiah 55 verse 7 says that we should return to God so as to be be abundantly pardoned. I think we need that here in Broadchurch. I think Danny's murder has brought up a lot of feelings of anger and sadness and guilt. I think it's times like these where we're most likely to flee from God but we need to turn back to Him."

She nodded encouraging him to continue. In the past this sort of talk is something she might have dismissed. She just didn't hold to these beliefs or the strictures they demanded. But with Paul speaking to her so earnestly about what he truly did believe she could do nothing but listen.

"But in the face of such senseless violence, such hurt I'm afraid the words fall flat. Amy, I stand there, every Sunday and look out at these faces and all I see is pain and helplessness and they want me to make things better and I can't. I don't know how. They don't prepare you for this in seminary, this visceral loss. I feel I'm failing them. I was sent here to shepherd these people and I am a poor, poor shepherd. I sometimes think they'd be better off in other hands."

"Now who's taking on far too much pressure?" She said with an understanding smile.

"This is different." he said with a shake of his head.

"Why, because you're feeling it? Last I checked you're just as human as I am. Maybe quite a bit holier but still human."

"I suppose that's one of the things." He paused, surprised that he was actually going to say this next bit aloud. "They expect me to be holier, they need me to be holier but I'm not. There are times when I put on my vestments and I feel like such a sham."

"How do you know what they expect? Have you asked them?"

"Well...no.." he said, surprised by her question.

"Then you don't know. You're just assuming. I don't think anybody believes you're the second coming, Paul. I think they just hope that you'll be there when they need you, to offer wisdom and counsel and listen to their problem. I don't really believe anyone expects you to solve them. Just listen, like you did for me."

She stood up suddenly and took both their tea cups. The liquid had grown cold and she refreshed it from the kettle. She felt him watching her as she moved easily around his kitchen, retrieving the milk, sugar and honey. When she came back to the table she set the cups back in front of them both and sat down, pulling her chair closer to him.

"Maybe your parishioners understand your job better than you do. I would think they go to God to fix their problems. They come to you to find the words to say to Him or to comfort themselves."

It was so simple. So logical and yet she could see it had never really occurred to him before. She flattered herself to think that just maybe she had made him consider something new. Maybe she had set right a part of him that had been in tumult for weeks at ease.

"You're right." He said, unable to hide the amazement from his voice.

"I usually am." She said cheekily over the rim of her cup before taking a sip. "But there's more, isn't there?"

He looked at her startled.

"How did you know?"

"My friend out there is the king of secrets and I've spent many a night trying to unravel them. Even if he doesn't tell me what they are I always recognize when he's hurting. So what's hurting you? Why can't you sleep?"

"I feel guilty."

"About what?"

"When I first came here, no one was very interested in church. The attendance numbers were painfully small. I did whatever I could to drum up interest, to entice people to give up their Sunday mornings but nothing worked. Until Danny's death. Amy, I walked out there that Sunday and every pew was filled almost to capacity. And do you know what I felt? Pleasure."

He swallowed hard and she thought she could see him battle some unpleasantness as it gathered in both the forefront of his memory and his throat.

"It's just all hearkens back to man I used to be. The man I don't ever want to be again."

"Tell me." She said softly and reached for his hand.

"When I was younger I was a bit of handful. I never slept much, even then and I liked to go out, get pissed, sleep around. I liked attention, from women, praise from other blokes. I liked the way it made me feel. It fed my ego and my ego's appetite was insatiable. When I entered the seminary it was because I wanted to serve God but also because I wanted to turn my life around. I hate who I was then. To feel him, re-emerging in such an unseemly way makes me sick to my stomach."

Amy observed him for a moment.

"You had a moment of pride, is what you're saying? That's one of the Seven Deadly Sins, right?"

"Yeah."

"So you're human? You had this second where you felt a surge of pride that your church was filled. Something that you wanted came about in a way that you never ever would have wanted. So what? It was one moment out of hundreds of moments you have everyday."

He studied her for a moment, digesting her words.

"Paul, that doesn't mean you're turning back into the person you were. I think it means you're just evolving into the person you want to be. You're like...who's that bloke?"

He frowned.

"What bloke?"

"That bloke, the church guy from a long time ago. He screwed around a lot as a young guy, and I mean a  _lot_  but then he became like one of the most important people in Christianity."

"St. Augustine of Hippo." He said as he realized who she meant.

"That's it. You're like St. Augustine of Hippo."

He laughed at the unintentional blasphemy.

"I am not like St. Augustine, but thank you just the same."

"How do you know? You don't know what's ahead of you. I know I haven't known you for long at all but I know you're a good man. I know it. I wish you knew it too."

She squeezed his hand and he immediately returned the gesture.

"I also don't think I'm the only one who's lonely." Amy said softly. Impulsively she leaned in, when he didn't pull back, she pressed her lips to his. He responded in kind almost instantly.

Not long after he pulled back and she saw the shocked look on his face, the look that said he couldn't believe his behavior. He was a moment away from apologizing. 

She didn't know why she'd kissed him, she just knew she wanted to do it again.

But immediately _she_ started to apologize.

"Paul, I'm so sorry. I'm not sure what came over me-"

"It's alright, I'm not offended. It was nice."

"Was it?" She asked hopefully, not certain what she was hoping for.

"Yes, um..." He looked flustered and that only made him more attractive. But this wasn't just about his looks. She watched him as he opened up to her. It looked as though he hadn't done so with anyone for a very long time, if ever. And she felt honored that he trusted her enough to speak so frankly.

Still there was no arguing that at the moment he looked flustered. She prepared herself for the moment when he, with what she now understood to be characteristic politeness, asked her to leave.

Instead he said,

"Would you like to go to the lounge? You can tell me all about your adventures with the Doctor."

And so they did. Picking up their tea she followed him into the modest lounge and they each took a seat on the sofa.

He was so easy to talk to. It was like sitting with a long lost old friend and soon she found herself regaling him with tales from the TARDIS. Sanitized, altered, completely rewritten in some ways but the spirit remained. She laughed and he laughed with her. They ran through another pot of tea, he found some biscuits in the cupboard he didn't even know he had. An hour passed and another and another. They chatted and munched and slowly the distance between them on the couch grew smaller and smaller and smaller.

She had kissed him once and that was all her conscience and her courage would allow.

Which is why she felt immeasurable relief when he, just as impulsively, kissed her.

Things progressed from there. She felt his hands tentatively on her cheek, her shoulder and she knew he was trying. Limiting his touches to places that were frowned upon but not forbidden. He was trying to stem the tide.

She wanted them both, if only momentarily, to drown.

"Paul, I'm about to ask you for something that is highly improper and most definitely wrong and could likely send me to hell."

"What-"

But she cut him off with a kiss.

"I like you and I know we just met but I haven't felt this close to anyone in forever, maybe never and..." She faltered. "I just want a few moments of peace and kindness with someone who means something to me." She brought their foreheads together and closed her eyes her fingers finding their way into his hair. "Please, Paul...please..."

"Please what?" He asked, his voice just a whisper.

"Please take me to bed."

* * *

_**Paul** _

Her lips were as soft as he'd imagined and he  _had_ imagined. This whole interlude had been what his Catholic brethren would call an occasion to sin. He never should have brought her here, never should have let them touch, get so close,  _be_ so close, he never should have allowed his baser nature to rule his head.

She was so lovely and while some in Broadchurch had poured their hearts out to him, he had poured his out to her. These last few hours had been some of the most intense, fulfilling soul cleansing times he'd had in ages. It felt good, sweet, it felt like a blessing.

What was he doing? What in the name of God was he doing?

He couldn't speak so instead he simply nodded.

"We don't have to do anything." She said as they rose from the table and they both knew it was a lie.

He nodded again and in a swift, decisive movement pulled off his collar and set it carefully on the coffee table. It was a line he was drawing, a decision he was making. He was walking towards this, walking towards her with eyes wide open. He wouldn't degrade himself come morning and pretend he didn't know where this was leading or that he didn't willingly agree. There was no angel on his shoulder telling him he shouldn't. He knew it was wrong and he still had every intention of doing it. He would not compound this sin with the sin of lying to himself or God.

"Will this get you in trouble?" She asked as she eyed it warily. "Isn't this a sin? Like a big one?"

"Technically there are no big or little sins. We don't have a strict concept of venial and mortal. But premarital sex is rather frowned upon."

"I don't want to get you in trouble with...you know..." Amy gestured upwards.

"Amy, I'm just a man. Right now there are some things going on and... I just want one night just for myself too, I suppose. You make me feel..." He struggled to find the words. "You make me  _feel_. And I don't want to give that up, not right now."

"So you are sinning, then?"

Everyday of my life." He replied.

"Will you have to confess?"

"Confession works a bit differently for us. All can. Some should. None must. That's the philosophy. But yes, I will likely confess."

"I hate that I'll be on your list of regrets." And he watched the slight downturn of her mouth at the thought.

"Hey...hey, I didn't say that. I won't regret this." He had been holding her hand and now tugged her close. "I won't regret you. But if you don't want to make love, we don't have to."

"I want to." She said earnestly and he kissed her again.

"So do I." He said and taking her hand he lead her up the stairs.

They made their way slowly up to his bedroom and he was grateful that he had tidied up earlier. Once there he drew her into his arms again and they resumed kissing.

Of course he felt guilty but it was vague and distant. His need for her was overpowering and he was beyond the idea of stopping.

Hastily she started to undo her blouse and he put his hands on hers to stop her.

"What's the rush?"

"Nothing..I just...nothing." He watched as she faltered, suddenly feeling embarrassed and he feared that she feared he thought less of her.

"Can we take this slow?"

She paused before replying. "Slow hurts."

"It shouldn't." He said looking at her with a truly troubled stare. "Slow shouldn't hurt. I won't hurt you. I promise."

"I trust you." She said meeting his eyes, relaxing a bit more and offering him a smile. "Paul, you're not a...I mean you've done this before, right?" She asked.

"No, Amy, not a virgin. In fact perhaps a little too experienced." He could tell she wanted him to elaborate but he didn't really want to at the moment. "Now, let me do that." He said quietly. He kissed her again softly and now, just a few kisses in and it felt like old hat. Slowly he went to work, unfastening the buttons on her blouse until it fell open. With care he brushed it from her shoulder and gently laid it on his desk chair. It had been ages since he'd seen a woman undressed, though the imagery occasionally floated through his mind unbidden. Here she stood, rosy cheeked, lips still pursed and surprisingly looking as unsure as he did. In a show of equanimity to he removed his own sweater and shirt. She observed his bare chest before raising a tentative hand to touch him. A woman's touch, soft and delicate on his bare skin and his cock, already hard was growing uncomfortable in the confines of his jeans.

Sensing his hesitation and perhaps fear at making the next move she raised his hand and brought it to her breast, still covered by the bra. Relieved, he gave her a gentle, testing squeeze and the little "Mmmph" sound she made, made it impossible for him not to kiss her again. As they snogged her hands went to the waistband of his trousers and she made fast work with the button and zipper. With his free hand he forced them down and gracelessly stepped out of them. As she reached to unhook her bra with careful hand he tugged her skirt off her hips. That too he lay across his chair and when he came back to her he beheld those wonderful breasts, at once free. They kissed again and pressed chest to chest.

"Hold on..." he said against her lips. "Condoms"

Fumbling behind him he reached into his bureau drawer and pulled out an embarrassingly long series of Trojans.

She raised her eyebrows and giggled.

"Why, Vicar!"

"It's for anyone who may need them, I just haven't put them in my office yet." He practically stammered. "We're very liberal minded-"

He broke off as he realized she was teasing him.

He tore off one and as he went to put them back. She tore off two more. He was, in a word, elated but hoped she wasn't being too ambitious. It had been awhile for him.

He had fucked. He had fornicated. He had rutted and screwed and had it off and God knows he had shagged, but it occurred to him that perhaps her question had been right. Perhaps he had never made love. Perhaps this was his first time.

She laid down on his bed and he took a moment to just drink her in. She slipped under the covers and a second later, after some maneuvering he watched her toss her knickers to the floor. A low sort of groan escaped from his throat and in a second he was beneath the covers as well. A moment after that his pants were gone as well.

They laughed lightly, nervously, warmly.

"You have a very nice body, Paul."

"Not half as nice as yours." Paul bridged his body over hers, pressing down gently and kissing her deeply. "Amy, would it be alright if I tasted you?"

Her eyes brightened and he could tell instantly she had imagined a far more vanilla experience.

"Umm yes, sure."

He was nervous but eager and keenly aware that this was a brief, bright moment in time and he wanted to make the most of it.

He kissed her lips once more before beginning a slow advance down her body. Everything was new again. It had been years since he kissed a woman's clavicle, pressed his lips to a nipple and felt it harden at his touch, kissed the underside of a breast, the well of a belly button, the inside of a thigh. It was magic, pure magic to be in this moment and the fact that it was someone he cared for made it all the more perfect.

These were old skills, skills he feared had grown rusty with disuse but somehow his hands found the way. He remembered and it all flowed back into his body as he recalled the liturgy of man and woman, how to give psalms to a body.

Paul settled himself at her center and upon giving her a tentative swipe of his tongue and Amy nearly rocketed off the bed. He wondered how long it had been for her.

"Easy, Amy, I'll bring you there." He said with that old confidence he never used to questioned. Pinning her hips he started licking her in earnest, flattening his tongue and letting her heady flavor flood his mouth. She was keening, whimpering, calling out his name as she tugged his hair. When she came it was with her thighs pressed tightly against his head as she squealed. He stayed there between her legs, lapping at her until she begged him to come back into her arms.

He didn't feel like the greedy, Drunken Paul of old, he didn't feel coiled and closed of like Vicar Paul. He only felt like Paul Coates, the man, who'd been fortunate enough,  _blessed_ enough to find a lovely, kindhearted, girl to take to bed, to share a sacred moment with and for that he was immensely happy.

* * *

_**Amy** _

She hadn't known what kind of lover he'd be but she had expected, despite his claims to promiscuity, that he'd be timid. Plus, sleeping around certainly didn't necessitate that he'd have any skill.

What a pleasant surprise he had been and they were only just starting.

When he'd asked if he could go down on her she'd been too surprised to say no. Once he'd gone to work she'd been far too engaged to even speak. He brought her to orgasm with a skill that left her panting and aching to hold him again.

He was back beside her, then atop her in a moment and his shy smile which in the face of all her moaning still questioned, Was that alright?, assured her this had been a good decision.

She tried to think of something cheeky to say, something clever to make him laugh or blush but she couldn't come up with anything. Instead she just gazed into his eyes as he looked into hers. What she saw there frightened her and simultaneously made her want to draw even nearer.

She saw a home.

Of course she berated herself immediately for being crazy. For taking a friendly and emotional one night stand to heart, but she couldn't help it. He felt like home.

"You ok?" He asked.

"Better than ok." She kissed him to stop anymore words. "Would you mind if I were on top?"

A happy smile brightened his face and he shook his head no.

Amy grabbed a condom and tore it open as the switched places. Straddling his middle she took his erection in hand, taking singular pleasure when he swore at her touch. She rolled the condom down around his cock and without preamble raised herself up before sinking down upon him.

He moaned loudly, unabashedly and she remained still, understanding he needed to accustom himself to the situation.

"How long?" She asked quietly, nearly distracted beyond reason by the feeling of him inside her, hard and satisfying.

"Six years." he said through gritted teeth. "You?"

"Four." She replied and gave him a test squeeze. His hand immediately went to her hip, both to spur her on and keep her still. He couldn't seem to make up his mind so she laughed, tossed her hair and did it for him. She started off slow, rising and falling on his cock, wanting to draw it out and draw him out. He closed his eyes, trying to hold on but she'd have none of it. She wanted him to remember this and remember her, even if she was to be wiped from his soul when he confessed her away. "No, open your eyes. Watch me." She said and he instantly obeyed.

She brought his hands up to her breasts and he cupped them in just the way she liked.

"Touch me, Paul. Touch me, please."

His hands moved more freely now over the landscape of her body and she arched backwards as he glanced her g-spot. She wanted to move faster, she wanted to ride him like a bronc at a rodeo but she also wanted to prolong it, draw it out. It had been too long for both of them and while slow usually did hurt, it didn't hurt now, here, with him.

She knew he was close, from the second he'd slid inside her he was close and she would have been perfectly happy and a little chuffed if he'd come early. There were more condoms, more time and more hours before the sun rose.

But suddenly he rallied, pushing himself up to a sitting position he pulled her closer to him, locking there eyes. She continued bouncing on him but he resolve was quickly dwindling, her eyes closing as she whimpered out his name.

"No, please, look at me." He said and she obliged and moments later she came, shuddering in his embrace, rhythmically clenching around his cock until he orgasmed with her.

She dropped her head to his shoulder, breathing heavily, relaxed, sated and happy. After she'd caught her breath a bit she pulled back to look at him and before their eyes met she was struck with the terrible fear that she might see them cloaked with regret.

Instead he just smiled.

"I'm a bit out of practice...was that ok?" He asked hopefully.

She broke into a nearly ear to ear grin and giggle like a girl. She felt young, she didn't recall the last time she'd felt young and had no idea that she'd been feeling old.

"That was so much better than ok."

"Oh thank heavens! It was so much better than ok for me too."

She raised up and allowed him to slip out of her and he quickly disposed of the condom before wrapping her in his arms.

She felt warm, protected...loved.

She also felt suddenly very, very sleepy.

"You should rest." he whispered in her ear.

Amy protested like a child being sent off to a nap even as her eyes were drooping closed.

Paul only chuckled and kissed and minutes later she had drifted off.

* * *

_**Paul** _

He didn't sleep.

But it wasn't because he wasn't tired or because he wasn't able or because all those nasty thoughts had come crowding back in.

It was just because he didn't want to. Sleeping would mean missing a moment of this woman in his arms, warm, beautiful, perfect, sensual...

He could go on and on with adjectives and indeed in his mind he did,

But eventually he just settled upon the idea that this was right.

A glance at the clock told him that it was quite late or quite early depending on how one looked at things. He knew that this magic couldn't last forever and would likely fade as the dawn started to rise. But for now, he was here and he intended to enjoy every second.

He had forgotten how rapturous sex could be. He remembered the visceral feelings of course, the noises, the groping. But this was so different from anything he could recall and the little eager addict part of him could easily see making this his new god. But upon closer examination he realized it wasn't the sex he was clinging to, not the ease of the caresses and the cries and the orgasm. It was her. All other encounters he'd ever had paled to what he had just experienced with this stranger. The only two things that troubled him where Why, why her? and what was he to do when she was gone?

He remembered falling in lust at first sight. Remembered seeing a girl out about in London and wondering just what it would take to get her out of her clothes and on to him. But he had never felt lo-

No. There were some roads that even on this night his intellect rebelled at him going down.

He did not love her. That was silly. That was pheromones and brain chemistry and the nonsense of a lonely heart. And he was lonely, she was right about that.

But not now. Not now.

She rested in his arms, her slow steady heartbeat and occasional happy sighs bringing a grin to his face every now and then. He wondered how long she would perfume his bed after she left and whether that would help or hurt.

After awhile she awakened and yawned like a child. Before she even spoke she kissed him, soft and long and and he sank into the sweetness of the action.

"You know what I could really go for?" She said in a voice that was attractively husky from sleep.

"What's that?" he asked.

"Popcorn. You don't happen to have any do you."

"I believe I do. It's not microwave though, we'll have to make it the old fashioned way."

"That's just how I like it!"

With energy that made him chuckle she leapt, naked out of bed. She went over to his bureau opened it, grabbed a t-shirt and slipped it over her frame. Turning back to the bed she grinned at him.

"Come on, lazy bones!' And then she was gone, dashing down the stairs towards the kitchen. He laughed and getting up from the bed and grabbing a dressing gown he soon followed.

It had been awhile since he'd made popcorn and the first batch turned out disastrously burnt. But upon the second attempt they were rewarded with big, fluffy kernels. She melted an obscene amount of butter and drizzled it over the contents of the bowl. He grabbed a few fizzy drinks from the fridge and back upstairs they went.

He only glanced at his collar still sitting on the table in the lounge.

They jumped back into bed, exuberant, childlike, free and munched and chatted like old friends and new lovers. She told him a bit more of her strange times with the Doctor and he wondered how she had time to fit everything that she told him in. He told her a bit more about his life, about Broadchurch and what times had been before the murder had stained the town. Her mobile buzzed at one point and she looked at it with irritation. She hastily texted something in reply and then set it on the nightstand.

Paul was glad the intrusion was short lived.

They slid under the covers once more and their voices naturally lowered the way voices do when entering a church or some other holy place. At one point she took his hand gently and began kissing his fingertips, running her tongue along the pads, licking away the salty remnants of butter. The touch of her lips set him alight and he quickly put the bowl aside.

"May I be on top this time?" He asked and she nodded eagerly in reply.

He settled atop her after having put on another condom and they resumed that blissful, breathless snogging. Nudging her legs apart he entered her slowly, sliding his length inside her until they were nearly one. She gasped, her breath catching in her throat and only when she was able did she say his name.

"Paul..." And it was like a prayer.

"Amy..." He replied, his entreaty joining hers.

His pace was slow, not lazy but measured, each stroke bringing them both a new ecstasy, another rung climbed on that ladder to release. She ran a hand through his hair, grasping at the strands at the base of his neck. He kissed her, he didn't want to stop kissing her, not ever. Breathing was irrelevant when it was matched against kissing Amy Pond.

Her little cries and his joined each other rhythmic, gentle, climbing higher and higher until their voices broke and so did they.

As he came he thought, when he could think; I love you. I don't know how or when or why and I don't care. I love you. To deny that would be to deny the most true part of myself.

When it was over and they had parted only to take care of the technical things like tossing the condom and snuggling deeper into the sheets he found his voice again.

"I know your friend is waiting for you but do you think you could stay for awhile?" He said quietly, murmuring it against her hair.

At his question she burst into tears, tears he wondered if she could even begin to explain. he knew their sudden harshness coupled with her inability to stop them embarrassed her and had she not been naked she likely would have fled. But she didn't flee.

He wasn't put off by the tears. Instead they seemed to dredge the well of sadness and that feeling of incomplete within himself and he felt his own eye start to burn.

"I know..." He said. "I understand."

And they lay there in his slightly too small bed, the euphoria of their coupling having long ago worn off. They held each other, naked and silently wept like children. At some point he reached up and turned off the light.

* * *

_**Amy** _

She didn't know she'd fallen asleep until her mobile woke her up.

"Rory...will you get that..." She mumbled still trapped in dreams. With a sudden jerk she awoke and grabbed for her phone.

"Hello?"

"Amy...were you sleeping?"

"I...what's up?"

"We have to go. We have to leave...now."

She glanced at Paul who was still sound asleep, his arms still securely around her.

"Can't we wait until morning?"

"Amy..." There was a pause as he friend fumbled for the right colloquialism. "You didn't...I meant you aren't...you haven't been...?"

She bristled and a feeling of anger swelled inside anger. Anger that he would dare. Old anger at having been cast off not so long ago.

"I really don't think that's any of your business." She said coolly. "Once you decline the offer, Doctor, you have no call to ask me about the ones who accept."

She remembered pouncing on him in her bedroom but she couldn't remember why. Of course he was handsome and that was reason enough but wasn't there an urgency to it?

"Quite right." He said brusquely and she was surprised to hear that the remark may have hurt his feelings. She'd need to analyze just why it hurt him later. "But that doesn't change the fact that we need to go. We should never have come here in the first place."

"Fine just give me a bit. I'll meet you on the beach."

She hung up not giving him a chance to answer.

"Are you sure he's not your boyfriend?" Paul asked in the darkness.

She was only startled for a moment and when that feeling passed she rasied up, tossed the phone aside and kissed him.

"Positive. But...I have to go."

"Yeah, I figured. I'll get dressed and see you off."

"You don't have to do that."

He ran a hand through her hair and smiled sadly.

"I want to."

And then he said what she didn't even know she wanted to hear.

"You could stay." He said in an unthinking rush. "There's a few places for rent in town. We could date. We couldn't continue a sexual relationship until we were m-"

Even in the darkness she could see the look on his face, the horror as he realized what had come tumbling from his mouth. The look that said, Surely this woman will now bolt from the madman's bed.

But Amy had no intention of bolting.

"Tell me more."

He faltered with surprise but after a moment continued. Perhaps he felt protected in the darkness.

"We could date as I said. I could take you to the cinema and dinner. I could walk you home and kiss you goodnight on your doorstep. We could go for lunch after church on Sunday. I wouldn't make you convert and I'd try not to be obnoxious about God, but I'd like you to know Him, understand why I believe. Hopefully come to love Him as I do. We'd marry. We'd toss away the condoms and you'd be pregnant in the springtime when everything is lush and growing and new. We'd live happily ever after.

"Amy Pond, the vicars wife. Amy Pond, settled down and happy." She said and laughed fondly. "What is it about you? What is it about you that almost convinces me to say yes?"

"The same thing about you that convinces me to ask." he said quietly. "But you won't stay, will you?"

She swallowed and the tears flooded her eyes again.

"I can't stay, Paul. The Doctor needs me and..."

She saw him choking on and wrestling with the words, I need you. He eventually beat them into submission everywhere but his eyes and the set of his mouth.

"And?"

"I think I hurt people. I think I wind up making them miserable in the end."

"What do you base this on?"

"A feeling, I suppose."

"What about the way you feel now?" He said kissing her softly.

"I just don't think I'm the marrying kind, Paul."

He nodded and she feared for a moment he'd pull away. She had after all just decisively put him off, crumbling his dream...and hers. But instead he drew her close.

She kissed him again and knew he could taste the salt on her lips.

"Make love to me again...tell me goodbye."

And so they did. One last time they came together in body and spirit and it was a painful, lovely and cleansing.

She dressed quickly and so did he and before they left the house for the walk back to the rocky place where they'd met he re-affixed his collar. Paul took her hand and they walked silently, side by side towards a solitary figure in the distance who upon approach revealed himself to be the Doctor.

His features were set in an aloof sort of stare as they drew closer but upon seeing the two of them, their down turned faces, their hands clasped his face changed. She couldn't keep track of all the things she saw there in a matter of seconds. Pain. Fear. Regret. Maybe even jealousy.

It didn't matter, not now.

She turned to Paul and she was already crying again. She was going to remove the jacket he'd again placed about her shoulders but he said; "Please keep it."

"Alright." Boldly she put her hands on either side of his face. "You'll take care of yourself, right? You'll look after you in addition to everyone else. You won't be so hard on yourself. And you'll remember you're a very good man. And remember, He pardons you. He pardons you."

"I will earnestly try, Amy. And you'll remember that you're exactly where you're meant to be. You needn't rush to get to the next step. Slow shouldn't hurt. And that you are a wonderful woman."

"I will earnestly try." She said, her throat constricted so tightly it hurt to speak.

She kissed him again then, a last kiss, deep and loving and in full view of the Doctor.

He returned the gesture sliding his hands about her waist and holding her close to him before, ultimately, letting her go.

"I love you." She said. It was out of her mouth before she even knew what was happening. But before the wind could carry it away he replied in kind.

"I love you too."

It was too much. It hurt too bloody much and she was Goddamn tired of being hurt. She kissed him once more and started to hurry away.

"Amy!" he called out to her and she turned. For a second she thought she might run back into his arms. She actually thought she might tell the Doctor to just leave her there. Come back and visit, sure. But she had found her place and she would not abandon it. And it wasn't on some distant planet with people with tentacles or three legs or lavender skin. It was here, in Broadchurch, a tiny little town not all that different from Leadworth. Right by this mans side.

"God called me at 17. " He said. "But I didn't answer for 10 years. When I did, He was there, waiting for me. I couldn't believe it because it meant to me, that He thought I was worth waiting for. You could come back. I'll be here. I'll wait. You're worth waiting for."

Even at this distance she knew he likely saw her face crumple. All she could do was nod at him quickly and hurry away. It was too much. It was all too, too much.

The Doctor stayed behind for a moment, no doubt saying something to Paul before catching up with her.

"Are you alright?" he asked quietly, nervously as though he figured she'd lash out.

But she was too weary for any of that.

"No. I'm not." She sniffled and walked faster. "Why did we have to leave just this second."

"This isn't our world, Amy. In Venice, Calvierri told me that they Saturnyne came through a crack in the universe, like the crack in your wall. She said that some were huge and some incredibly small and some...are just about the size of a TARDIS."

She turned to look at him in shock.

"I wasn't sure when we landed, but the refueling rift is also right inside one of the cracks, we passed harmlessly through. It's essentially safe but I'm not certain of the stability. About an hour ago the fluctuation started making me a bit tense and I knew it was time to go."

"So that means, we could never come back here?" She said, the true blackness of the situation eclipsing her.

"No, we can't." He said in a way tinged with regret but that left no room for argument.

They arrived at the TARDIS and she entered feeling defeated. He rushed to the console and after only the slightest of jolts which she took to be them re-entering the crack and their correct universe with it, they were in flight.

"Where would you like to go? Amy's choice." he said cautiously. She knew he was trying to tempt her and lift her spirits but she was exhausted.

"I just want to go to bed right now if that's alright, Doctor. I've just had enough for today. I've...just had enough."

He looked at her and nodded sympathetically.

Amy slowly trudged to the hated bedroom on the TARDIS and then bypassing it she wandered until she found a room that was unoccupied. There was just a simple bed, a glass of water and some paracetamol on the nightstand as though it had been laid out for her, waiting. The TARDIS was a kind old girl who Amy figured knew a thing or two about heartbreak. She took the medicine and laid down, curling up into a fetal position. When she closed her eyes she thought of Paul, his embrace, the feeling of his body against hers and that happiness, so pure and perfect, familiar and fleeting. The memories were sharp now and as painful as they were sweet, she hoped the edges would soften with time. For now though, she wrapped herself up in his memories and drifted off.

Before she was fully asleep though, she did something she hadn't done since she was a little girl. She prayed, for the Doctor, for herself and for Paul. And for the kind of peace and joy she found in Broadchurch to one day visit the both of them again.

* * *

_**Paul** _

He walked back to the rectory, tired and weary but somehow knowing he wouldn't be able to sleep. His home still smelled like Amy but no place as strongly as his bedroom. It hurt, just as he expected.

As he stripped down and curled up into the bed again his thoughts returned to her moment of departure and the last words exchanged with the Doctor.

"It's just your template, isn't it?" The Doctor said softly. Paul furrowed his brow and was about to question him but the other man continued. "You'll never change. A thousand worlds, a thousand you's, and you'll never change. You are imprinted on the universe to be this. And it's always her."

Not a bit of what the other man was saying made sense and with Amy gone he felt that he just desperately wanted to be alone.

It didn't matter as the Doctor had no intention of lingering.

"Goodbye, Paul." remained, he raised his hand in parting wave and the look of pity in his face was disturbing. "If you're a matched pair across space and time, perhaps there's one here for you. Don't be surprised if you don't ever see her again...but yet you do."

In the end Paul turned away, wiping tears from his cheek and trying to compose himself as he returned to the rectory. The man was just talking nonsense.

The next day he drove to Corton, the nearby town which wasn't nearby at all. He entered the local church and after a brief discussion with a fellow vicar arranged a time for confession.

Kneeling in the booth he crossed himself and began.

"Bless me, Father for I have sinned."

"The Lord be in your heart and upon your lips that you may truly and humbly confess your sins: In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  _Amen."_

"I confess to Almighty God, to his Church, and to you, that I have sinned by my own fault in thought, word, and deed, in things done and left undone. It has been a week since my last confession. In that time I have taken the Lords name in vain. I have been guilty of pride, arrogance and vanity. I have had impure and lustful thoughts and I have engaged in sexual congress with a woman to whom I am not married...three times. For these and all other sins which I cannot now remember, I am truly sorry. I pray God to have mercy on me. I firmly intend amendment of life, and I humbly beg forgiveness of God and his Church, and ask you for counsel, direction, and absolution.

There was a pause and a stifled cough from the other side of the booth.

"I'll wait, Father." Paul said as the other man composed himself.

Confession done, his conscience eased just slightly he went to find a quiet place to pray.

He prayed for her health, he prayed for her safety, he prayed for her heart and most of all he prayed that she would someday find someone who would love her as deeply as he did.

Only because he could hear her voice in his head, chastising himself for playing the martyr did he add a final prayer for himself. That he might enjoy happy days ahead, that he might find peace and succor and joy in not just helping those around him but for himself as well. He prayed that someday, perhaps his heart would again beat with the rhythm of love and purity and grace the way it had beat this last evening for Amy Pond.

In Jesus name.

Amen.


End file.
